The Bravest Thing
by Len
Summary: J/D: A song-fic that attempts to fill in some of the gaps in the whole Donna story. stand-alone


The Bravest Thing   
By Len  
Spoilers: ITSoTG, 17P  
Disclaimer: These characters all belong to Da Man, Aaron Sorkin. The song is 'Break Your Heart' by the Barenaked Ladies, and totally rocks.  
Rating: PG at worst  
Teaser: This is a song fic that attempts to fill in some of the some of the gaps in the Donna story.  
Notes: send me feedback and I will send you the finest Jell-O in the land! poppy_twist@hotmail.com  
  
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
  
The bravest thing I've ever done  
Was to run away and hide  
But not this time  
Not this time.  
  
I know hospitals are famous for life altering events. Births, deaths, permanent scaring, et cetera, et cetera. But I never really thought I would eventually fall in with that group of people who drives past University Hospital and winces. But then, I never thought I'd total my parents' car, either. Had I known, I never, ever would have borrowed it for a stupid shopping run in the first place.  
  
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Honestly, I would smite my brow if my hands weren't strapped to my sides. "I really am fine," I insist for the sixth time. The EMT pretends I haven't been repeating this like a broken record for the past ten minutes, and answers me.  
  
"You just need to relax, Donna. You've had quite a shock."  
  
"And yet, remarkably, suffered no ill-effects." I struggle against the neck brace they insisted on clamping on me. It's hard to argue with someone when you can't turn your head enough to even look them in the eye.  
  
I think Steve the EMT is getting fed-up with me. "Donna, they pulled you out of a car that was crumpled up like a tin-can. Why don't you leave it to the doctors to decided if there is anything wrong with you?"  
  
I let out a somewhat wobbly breath. I can feel my hands shaking, and know that Steve can see them, which makes it even worse. The whole situation is somewhat ironic, I think. Law abiding Donna on her way home with a jug of milk is the one carted off to the hospital, while the lunatic driver of the mustang who ran the red was able to walk away. The front end of his car was pushed in a little, but it was still drivable. So drivable, in fact, that he drove away before the cops showed up. I had hardly been in a position to get his license plate number.  
  
The adrenaline is starting to wear-off, and my body is beginning to ache.  
  
"The emergency card in your purse has an out-of-state number on it. Is there someone closer you'd like us to call?" the other EMT is asking.  
  
"Um...yeah. Could you call Rick? He's my...uh...boyfriend. That's Rick Peterson-Jeffies," I tell her.  
  
It takes a few more moments to explain that Rick has a hyphenated last name and convince them that I'm not delirious and asking for someone named Jeff. Then it takes a little while longer to remember Rick's cell number, which my normally excellent memory is having trouble recalling. But that's okay, because it keeps my mind off the growing pain.  
  
Gravity pushes against me when the ambulance pulls into the hospital. As they unload me from the back, I realize that this is the thirteenth day since my return to Wisconsin. Lucky thirteen.  
  
The weakest thing I've ever done  
Was to stay right by your side  
Just like this time  
And every time.  
  
~Fourteen Days Earlier~  
  
"Donnatella Moss!" Josh Lyman bellowed above the general din. Josh was one of Governor Bartlet's advisors on his Presidential campaign, and was my...um...well, normally I'd call him my boss, but seeing as how I hadn't actually been paid anything... Let's just call him my "responsibility", okay?  
  
"Present!" I quipped from behind his right shoulder. He jumped and spun around. "Will you knock that off? It's kinda scary the way you just beam from place to place-"  
  
"You're just jealous of my stealth capabilities," I replied. The fact was, Josh was so noisy while going about his day-to-day business, he could cover the racket of a Light Brigade charge.  
  
He smirked. "Remind me to report you as missing technology, Ms. F-117."  
  
I continued my voyage through the desks that clogged the operations bullpen of Bartlet for America, depositing phone messages on the way. "You would never."  
  
My responsibility tagged behind me. "I might," he argued. "It depends on what kind of reward I'd get."  
  
"Whatever it would be, I'm sure it would never fill the hole in your life created by absence of your invaluable assistant," I retorted, and made my way into the Spokesperson for BFA's office. Josh looked cocky and tapped the top of the doorframe.  
  
"Yeah, I know," he said. "But my heart would go on-ow!"  
  
I picked up the paperback and returned it to CJ's desk. "You know, you should be nicer to me," I advised him.  
  
"Aren't you even going to ask?"  
  
"Ask what?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Why I so respectfully requested your presence."  
  
I dropped a Washington Post and a stack of phone messages on CJ's desk and then brushed past him. "Have you been watching 'Poirot' again?" I asked critically. "Because I thought I told you not to. If you start on the 'little gray cells' thing, I'm going to have to-"  
  
"Donna!"  
  
I stopped, and of course he ran into the back of me. The files I had been holding flew up into the air, the papers they contained fluttering down like large white leaves.  
  
"Oh," he commented. "That's gonna take you a while to clean up."  
  
"Josh!"  
  
"Hey, I'm just kidding! Leave that, and come with me."  
  
Well, I had learned not to argue with Josh Lyman when he uses that tone. Besides, I was curious. He swaggered through the mayhem that was the Bartlet for America headquarters, and the sea of people parted in front of him. Something that _everyone_ had learned was to get out of his way, or he'd run you over.  
  
He led me back to the glass partitioned cubical we'd turned into his office. Inside a slightly built man with a pleasant smile and warm eyes was seated. He stood when we entered.  
  
"Donna," Josh said, shuffling some papers around on the desk. "This is Matt Skinner- -a friend from DC. Matt, this is Donnatella Moss."  
  
I don't think he looked up once throughout the entire introduction. Matt Skinner noticed this and flashed him an amused look, then shook my hand. "Donna- -delighted to meet you. I've heard so much about you."  
  
Oh? I thought. From whom and was it nice, I wonder. But out loud I murmur something politely sociable.  
  
"Yeah, this is the one who keeps threatening me with plagues unless she gets a raise," Josh jokes.  
  
I raise my eyebrows. "A raise, Joshua? Right now I'm being paid in bagels! A salary that actually is, you know, in any kind of monetary form would be enough to shut me up. For now, anyway."  
  
"But you told me you like bagels!" Josh objected. He had his hands on his hips and a smirk on his face. He loved to argue-it didn't matter if it was about breakfast food or Bolivian economics.  
  
Fortunately, so do I. "I do like bagels. But using the excuse that you're too broke from buying the bagels to pay me is getting less and less-"  
  
"Donna?" The three of us turned to see Toby Ziegler's frazzled assistant poking her head in the office. "There's a phone call for you. Line three."  
  
"Thanks, Ginger." I smile at Matt Skinner. "It was nice meeting you. I'm just gonna go take this-" I slip out the door. Behind me I could hear,  
  
"I like her."  
  
"You'd better. She can sic the locusts on you," Josh said.  
  
Ha.  
  
I had to remove a stack of old newspapers from one of the desk before I could actually find the phone. I hit the button. "Hello, Donna Moss speaking."  
  
There was a brief moment of silence, and then, "Donna?"  
  
I felt my stomach drop. "Rick?" I whispered.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
It's the stupid pride that makes me feel  
Like I have to follow through,  
Even half-assedly,  
Loving you.  
  
I looked around quickly. No one was paying me the slightest bit of attention. But just to be on the safe side, I grabbed the phone, took it to a conveniently placed broom closet and shut the door on the cord. I sat down on an inverted bucket.  
  
"Donna?" Rick was saying, "Are you still there?"   
  
The mellow, soothing baritone of his voice sounded tinny over the phone lines. "Um-yeah. I'm here. Although I have to say I'm a little curious at _your_ being here."  
  
He coughed. I wondered if he was keeping warm-he liked to wear these tight black t-shirts around, even in winter. Then I reminded myself that I really didn't care if he was healthy or not-the jerk.  
  
"I just wanted you to know that I miss you like crazy, Dee. And I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for what-"  
  
"Sorry?" I think I squeaked. "You're sorry? Now there's two of the most useless words in the entire English language. I glad you're sorry, Warrick! Why don't you go cry on Lilly's shoulder?"  
  
No, I wasn't bitter about our break-up.  
  
Rick was silent again. This was very unusual behavior. "I broke it off with Lilly, Dee. I realized you were the only woman for me. I...I love you, Donna."  
  
I gaped like a fish and scrambled madly in my brain for any kind of reply. I didn't come up with one. Apparently taking my silence as an encouragement to continue, Rick poured out the whole sad tale. He started with the day we first met, when I was just a sophomore working in the library and he was "dazzled."  
  
I've never wanted to think I was dependent on affection, but when he started telling me how much he missed my face, and how he was nuts about me, and how he dreamed about me every night...well, it wears down even the staunchest of feminists. I really missed being held-by anybody.   
  
Then I realized where I was. I was sitting in a dark closet in a chaotic campaign headquarters, totally surrounded by people all the time, and yet feeling lonelier than I ever had in my entire life. Something about that picture just wasn't right.  
  
"Donna, we had three years together. I don't want to lose all that just because I made the worst mistake of my life. I don't want to lose you."  
  
"Rick-"  
  
"Don't you think that three years stands for something? Or was this just a fling?"  
  
Somewhere, deep down, was a faintly sarcastic voice laughing at the idea of a three year-long fling, and the laughing harder at the idea of me having a fling at all. "No," I choked out. I was crying. "This wasn't a fling. It was a-a thing. It was three years, Rick."  
  
"Will you give me another chance, Dee? Please?"  
  
The last word came out as more of a sob. God, how could I have said no to the man I used to love when he was crying? Over me, no less.  
  
"I-um..."  
  
"I will spend every day of the rest of our lives making it up to you, Donna. Please come home?"  
  
I believed he was in love with me, and I that was all I ever really needed. "Okay," I whispered.  
  
At that precise moment, the line was cut off and the phone jerked out of my hand. The whole thing hit the door of the closet the same time I heard a huge crash from the bullpen. I cracked the door open.  
  
Josh was lying face-first on the floor. His foot was caught in the telephone cord. "That kinda hurt," he commented conversationally.  
  
"Whoops," I said.  
  
"I might have known," Josh said. "Donna, would you care to share with the rest of the class why you were in the broom closet?"  
  
I came forward and gave him a hand up. "I have to go," I told him.  
  
He leaned down and brushed his knees off. "To lunch? Isn't it a little early? It's only, what, eleven-thirty?"  
  
"Josh, you're watch totally sucks. It's twelve fifty. But that's not-"  
  
"Twelve-fifty, huh? Well, if you're going out, would you mind getting me a burger? Make sure it's well done, though. You never know what kind of weird diseases-"  
  
"Josh-"  
  
"And after that whole mad cow thing, I mean, who wouldn't cook their-"  
  
"Josh!" I yelled. I guess I kind of screamed it. Everyone around us paused for a moment, turned and realized it was me, then went back to work. Josh, on the other hand, looked kind of stunned.  
  
"Oh," he said. "You mean leave leave. As in, leave me. Oh..." He started nodding like the world finally made sense, and wandered back into his office. I followed him.  
  
"That was Rick," I explained. "On the phone. He wants to work things out."  
  
He started grabbing papers and stuffing them into his backpack. The motions quickly got angrier and angrier. "This would be the free-loading boyfriend Rick, right?" he asked. "The one that threw you out of your apartment, cleaned out your bank account, and left you to starve? The same one who decided he'd rather have an affair with a nurse than watch the Thursday night movie with you? That one, right?"  
  
"He broke up with the nurse," I said timidly.  
  
"WELL, GOOD FOR HIM!!" Josh bellowed.  
  
I slapped my hands down on the desk in front of him. "Josh, we were together for a very long time. I can't bail out just because the going got a little rocky..."  
  
"Rocky? Donna, the man had...Okay. Fine. Go back to him. But don't expect him to give you the kind of respect you deserve." I looked at him curiously. That, quite possibly, was the nicest thing Joshua Lyman had ever said to me. Kind of the verbal equivalent of a squeeze around the shoulders. He sighed and let his backpack fall onto the floor. "And you, Donnatella Moss, deserve an enormous amount of respect."  
  
I could feel my eyes starting to fill with tears again. "Oh, Josh..."  
  
He looked very uncomfortable. "No-Donna, let's not-can we just keep this...oh, hell. Just remember to vote for Bartlet, will you?"  
  
All I could do was nod vigorously. Josh-no longer my responsibility-muttered something about lunch and brushed past me. I noticed he left his wallet sitting on the corner of his desk.  
  
And that was when I left the Bartlet For America campaign, and took up pretty much where I had left off, two months before and twelve states away.  
  
What'd you think that I was gonna do  
Curl up and die, just because of you?  
I'm not that weak, you know.  
  
~Back In The Hospital~  
  
"Well, Donna, you seem to be perfectly fine," Doctor Geelan is saying. It takes ever ounce of will-power I possess to refrain from saying, "Duh!", but I manage. "However, your ankle is sprained, and it will be sore for a couple weeks. We should be thankful that a sprain and some bruises are the extent of your injuries..."  
  
I force a smile and wonder what is taking Rick so long. Even through heavy traffic, it should only have taken him twenty minutes to get to the hospital from his apartment. I know, because after he got on at the hospital, we used to drive back and forth, timing how long it would take to get there through different kinds of traffic. Just in case he was ever paged.   
  
Where is he?  
  
"...elevated whenever possible, and be sure to avoid any unnecessary movement. Use the crutches for the next week or so..."  
  
Ha! I think. Those crutches will be firewood by dinnertime tonight.  
  
"...avoid driving for a couple days, since after all, that was what..."  
  
I wonder if I should think about getting a taxi. Something obviously held Rick up, and I want to get the hell out of this hospital. They've always given me the creeps.  
  
Then I remember that I am in Wisconsin, not DC, or Boston, or New York, and I'll probably get home quicker by hitchhiking than I will by calling a cab.  
  
"...rub this salve on your ribs if they get too painful..." the doctor drones on.  
  
"Donna!" Rick's voice rings out along the hallway. "Baby, I'm so glad you're alright!" he leans down and gives me a quick peck on the mouth. He tastes like beer.  
  
The doctor completes his lecture, I sign out, and hobble out towards Rick's car. "What took you so long, Rick?" I asked as we pass through the sliding doors. "Was the traffic bad?"  
  
"Huh?" he looks startled. "Traffic? Uh...no. Actually, I stopped off to tell the guys I couldn't meet them at the bar tonight."  
  
I look at him. He is a very tall man, and I'm still trying to adjust to seeing a loping stride all day long, as opposed to a swaggering one. "But you met them anyway, didn't you?"  
  
"Well, yeah. I had to have the one beer-I didn't want to be rude or anything."  
  
"You don't think they would have understood if you'd just told them your girlfriend was in the hospital?"  
  
Rick is silent.  
  
"Would you have stopped at the bar if I was one of your patients, and the hospital paged you?" I ask quietly.  
  
His head shoots up. "Of course I wouldn't! That wouldn't be very professional..." he stops short, realizing he has just said the wrong thing. And this time, there's not anyway he can fix that. "Donna-" he starts.  
  
"Rick, please. I don't want to hear it. I know everything by heart. Just take me home."  
  
"Really?" he smiles the same killer smile that I fell for almost four years ago. Except now I don't feel a thing.  
  
"My parent's house. Rick, this was a stupid idea. We just don't work, and I am so tired of trying to make us work. I need to get back on with my life-"  
  
"Back to working for a dead-end candidate? Seriously, Donna, what life is there in that?"  
  
I wait for him to unlock the door, and then slide in out of the cold, tossing the crutches in the back seat. "Just take me home, Rick."  
  
You arrogant man  
What do you think that I am?  
My heart will be fine  
Just stop wasting my time.  
  
~The Next Day~  
  
The plane trip was the most relaxing part of my whole waste-of-time hiatus from the political world. I don't know when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the line I had become a political junkie. I had been driving Rick nuts with my detailed lectures on various topics that showed up on CNN, or an issue on C-SPAN. Now, as I return to the fray, my soul is at peace.  
  
Ick. That last one was a bit melodramatic even for me. I guess I'm just nervous about going back to Bartlet For America. What if they don't need me? What if Josh has a new assistant? What on earth would I do then?  
  
I know that as of fourteen days ago, Josh was assistant-less. I know this because CJ Cregg, the spokeswoman for BFA, sent me a letter that had been mailed the day I left. In it, she addressed several issues.  
  
1) Josh was driving everyone crazy.  
This alarmed me somewhat, because at the time of CJ writing, I had only been gone a couple of hours.  
  
2) I was owed several hundred dollars in travel expenses.  
Leo McGarry, apparently, had noticed shortly after I left that most of the traveling I had been doing over the past months had come out of my own pocket. Therefore, he arranged for me to be sent a plane ticket. I could either use it to return to the campaign, or I could refund it for my money.  
  
3) Josh couldn't seem to find his clothing.  
CJ expressed a certain amount of curiosity over this. She wondered why I would have any idea where a) Josh put his running shoes and b) what happened to his swim shorts.  
  
4) The assistants were going on strike.  
Exactly why they were going on strike was unclear to CJ, as she said they had never actually explained what they were unhappy about. Usually, I was the person who went to Leo or Josh with complaints, because, well, they could hardly fire me, could they? Apparently Ginger and Margaret and the rest over-looked the fact that for a strike to be successful, someone needs to share their demands.  
  
5) Cathy was picking on Sam.  
Sam Seaborne had recently acquired a new assistant, Cathy, who was quite a terrifying woman. At least, according to Sam. For one, she kept eating his muffins. And we all know how scary that can be.  
  
6) Josh refused to find a new assistant or allow another volunteer to take over the job.  
Therefore, all the other assistants were trying to take care of their duties as well as watch over Josh. CJ thought this might be somehow related to the strike.  
  
The letter went on to various pieces of gossip, but it was the last word I'd gotten from any member of the BFA campaign. I didn't know if I would be welcomed back, or ignored, or even worse-made fun of: 'Yes, there is Donna Moss-that sucker who went back to her cheating, often absent boyfriend because she was feeling sorry for herself...'  
  
Yeah. That will do wonders for my self-esteem.   
  
Driving down a New Hampshire highway, I decided I'd better not tell Josh about the accident. I mean, seriously, why give the man more mocking material? I will just tell him I dumped Rick and I'm ready to get back to work. End of story.  
  
Eventually I arrive at the brick building that has been rented out to the Governor's campaign. My regular parking spot is surprisingly unoccupied. I pull into it.  
  
My back cracks when I get out, my ribs ache, and my ankle throbs. But I'm here, finally. I stretch and look fondly at the building. I think I see a twitch of the blinds in one of the operations bullpen windows, but I'm probably imagining things.  
  
People actually smile and welcome me back from...vacation. Okay...  
  
"Donna!" Sam says joyfully. "I'm so glad you're back-you've got to talk to Cathy-"  
  
"Hey, Donna! I didn't know you were back!" Margaret, apparently off her strike, is at the photocopier, collating like crazy.  
  
"Just got back," I tell her. Then I limp over to Josh's office. Before I get there, I see him leaning against the water cooler, posed casually. He is suspiciously out of breath. He takes a sip of water and watches me over the cup with twinkling eyes.  
  
"Thank God," Josh says after a moment. "There's a pile of stuff on the desk."  
  
I smile at him broadly and go to the office to start sorting things out. What I see there is not only a pile of stuff, but also a massive bouquet of flowers. Curious, I go forward to see who on Earth could be sending Josh flowers, and why.   
  
In lieu of a card, there is a business-sized envelope with 'Donnatella A. Moss' typed across it. I pluck it out and tear it open. Inside is my first paycheck-a refundable gift certificate to the bagel shop around the corner, made out for two hundred dollars.   
  
And now I know that you will be okay,  
And I've got what I want  
And that's rid of you.   
Good-bye.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
